Crusade
by Stirack
Summary: "All of them, unnumbered and forgotten for their failed courses… and he would join them." Loosely inspired by an AU RP a friend and I discussed, references to a Mentor-Ganon, hints of Trans-Link. (MAY eventually become a collaborative fic)


Parry, roll, duck. Shield, jump, slash.

Every evasion, ever near-fatal blow averted, all of it was just another flex of muscle memory, another few seconds of survival ticked onto the fading clock. There was no thought, just action; if his mind wondered, if he made the mistake of remember, of _feeling…_ it was over. Not for Hyrule—Praise, if Fate ever deigned to allow Her pretty fields to burn in a final, magnificent end, or slip bindings with Her ill-favored Three, evermore—but for him, it would end, as it had for so many fallen Hero's unsung in the histories. Countless daring young lads in green had failed their quests over the millennia, dying meaninglessly along the Goddesses' path, or in a glorious blaze of titanic battle against their greatest rivals. All of them, unnumbered and forgotten for their failed courses… and he would join them. He would join them, another skewered, blood-soaked skeleton on the rotting piles of Time immemorial, and Hyrule would suffer… but only until another little lad, bright-eyed and golden-haired, stumbled into Fate's damning web and raised Her black banner.

"Fight harder, _Hero!_ The Goddesses gave you one of their best _toys_ , didn't they? Use it!"

 _"How long are you going to swing that thing around like an oversized_ toy _before you learn to fight, kid? I know you're made of stronger stuff than that!"_

Crack.

Down smashed his foe's blade, and it was all the hero could do to lift his shield arm above his skull. His wrist compressed and ached, and the impact bowed the protective iron, but it held; surely, a few heavy hits more would shatter his bones, given the freakish strength—the _Power—_ of his rival. _**'You think, you die. You think, you die.'**_ The mantra filled the young hero's brain… because if he slipped up again, if he _remembered_ , the horror and bloodshed would fade to rosy watercolor: to a twinkling scene of horses and campfires, of spinning desert myths, and a warm, rumbling laugh accompanied by the indulgent ruffling of blonde hair from a mentor's callused hand. A small, selfish part of him yearned for so hazy an end.

When had it all fallen apart? Who was this monster, this lunatic the Hero of Courage faced upon the battlefield? Here, in the stretching green of Hyrule field, away from the remains of a siege-ravaged Castle Town, the Hero and the Villain warred in Fate's destined roles, little more than marionettes enacting a battle that had been—and would be—fought for centuries without number. The Goddesses' Chosen Hero, clad in tunic and mail, would wield the Sword of Evil's Bane, and with it smite the Demon King. _**'But why like this? Why**_ **me** _ **, why him?'**_

The golden mark of the Goddesses blazed to life upon both battlers' hands, as if in answer to the hero's silent plea. A smirk curling his lips, the Demon King paused in his unending assault, making a flourish of examining the spark of divinity upon his hand. "Those shining bitches are getting bored with us, eh? Not a good enough show, ladies?" Cackling, he turned on his heels, tattered cloak and wild red hair flying. Eyes alight with madness locked on the lithe hero as he circled closer, towering in his height and choking the clean air with oily black magic, thick as a miasma. In a sickly conversational tone, he drawled, "It's not my fault if your little Hero isn't _man enough_ to fight back—oh, sorry, _did I strike a nerve?"_ The hero gripped his sword and grit his teeth, and willed the damning tears away.

" _If anybody ever puts you down, or makes you feel any less than the strong lad you are, you_ kill that bastard _, kid. You run him through, and you_ show him _how much greater you are than he'll ever be."_

' _ **Everything's gone so wrong.'**_

When had it all fallen apart, he wondered?

Their lives had been little more than splintered glass to begin with; a single tap at the fractures, and everything had shattered.

" _We're on the outside, kid, and nothing we do is ever going to change that. To all those self-important Hylian bastards, I'll always be a_ thieving gypsy _, and you'll always be an_ it, _a_ freak _… but who cares what they think? You just always be you, and I'll always be me, and we'll be stronger,_ together, _no matter what happens. We can be kings and heroes on our own, eh, little brother? We'll rule the greatest kingdoms and slay the fiercest dragons!"_

What, then, when their kingdoms lay in ash, and dragons stood in the guise of men?

"… _But… what if I don't want t-to be a king, or fight?"_

It was imprinted on the hero's memory, how his teacher's eyes had dimmed, from sparking gold to a worn, rusty amber; there were times, back then, when he had seemed so tired, times when distant ages not his own would settle in the furrow of his crimson brow and deepen the lines marring his dark countenance.

" _Sometimes… we don't have a choice; sometimes it's already been made for us."_

Staring down the monster that strut in his long-ago mentor's skin, the demon of rage and hate that dared to foul the memory of his rich voice with empty words of poison, the hero thought—and _remembered._ He felt the weight of their destinies like a pack of lead across his narrow shoulders, and he sighed. _**'I feel so tired, Sir. Is this how you felt, too?'**_

"Maybe… maybe you didn't want to fight either, Gan." His voice, so soft and numb with sorrow, carried over the windswept plains nonetheless. Everything just… _hurt._

Silent, the Hero remained.


End file.
